The Movie Buff
by Solanio
Summary: Marcus is an angel who's a real fan of actors and any sort of performance. But like any fan, even an angel can get carried away sometimes.
1. Prelude

_The theme is angels as a variant in the World of Darkness. This and similar stories of mine present angels more as mythological beings, and their relationship to Man, God, demons, and each other in a much more dark and cynical perspective than is typical for the subject. Thus the treatment is more in keeping with modern gothic themes, and has something in common with books like Good Omens, films like the Prophecy, and games like In Nomine. Therefore it might not be suitable or enjoyable for those with strong convictions and beliefs about angels. - This story is part of an ongoing chronicle at my web site (see profile) using a shared character. If you would like to contribute to this particular chronicle, please stop by. Otherwise, any helpful hints and critques are most appreciated. - Cheers, Sol._

**Prelude**

It was late summer. It was hot. The air was dead and dusty. Nothing moved. It was hot enough to choke and suck the moisture out of one's mouth until the desire for drink became a madness that drove out all other thoughts. But taverns were boarded shut. Even though afternoon naps had ended, and crowds, though small, should have been forming before evening meals, the streets were quite deserted. Furtive glances from half-closed doorways showed that people were about but none came outside, save a few unfortunate slaves, forced to do errands despite the oppressive heat. Buildings looked abandoned, empty, as if they had been reduced to dry husks, also dried of life and what life brings. Marcallus' footsteps fell hollow on the untended stone streets while small clouds of heavy dry soil puffed into dirty clouds that refused to settle nicely in the thin air.

The ground trembled slightly, ever so slightly. Marcallus felt it. So did the animals tucked away in shade and stall. Marcus could feel their unease all around him. In the distance, the mountain loomed, quiet once more. Marcus regarded it for a while then headed to the center of the city.

"I should have known I'd find you haunting the theatre, Narses."

Narses, who had been sitting, talking to another man, stopped when he felt the hand on his shoulder. He turned, squinting in the strong summer sunlight. His eyes had some difficulty recognizing who was speaking. But when he saw who it was, his mouth broadened into a smile that wrinkled his tanned face.

"Marcallus!" Narses got up and embraced the man. "When did you arrive?"

Not waiting for an answer, Marcallus was pulled to sit down beside him, motioning for the man who he had been talking to to move down on the wooden bench so his friend could sit down.

"We're just waiting for the first act to begin," Narses informed his friend. "The chorus has not come on yet."

"I can't stay."

Narses' face showed his disappointment. "You chide my love of the theatre, my friend, but it was you who showed it to me. How can you leave now? Terbonius from Syracuse is here! Didn't you know? I know he's past his prime but he's giving his last performance before leaving. He refuses to leave until his contract is done. I tell you, that is the mark of an artist!" Narses looked around at the near empty rows of benches. "Not that this place appreciates a true artist. You remember Terbonius, don't you? He played Scipio last summer. He was the best thing in that awful play."

Though Marcallus shared his friend's fascination with theatre and actors, he ignored the question. "I thought you had decided to take your family away. Haven't you felt the tremors?"

As if on cue, the amphitheatre shook and there were shrieks from the sparse crowd. About half the crowd ran for the exits, even though the rumbling had ceased. Marcallus looked at the mountain not so far away.

Narses, seeing his friend's gaze, told him in a voice that was strained, as if trying to sound braver than it felt, "Not to worry, my friend. I think we've seen the worst it can do. My neighbor, Silo, here... Oh, I should introduce you. Marcus Kirius Marcallus, meet Caius Norbanus Silo," Narses motioned to an older man whose grey hair and weathered face made him look older than his fifty years. Marcallus looked at the thick still muscular arms, noting the scars. He also noted the wooden hand, meaning that Silo's days as a legionnaire had been cut short many years before. Silo gave Marcallus a brief glance, as if to take his measure. Apparently, he didn't appraise Marcallus very highly, for he spoke while looking at the stage, not bothering to meet Marcallus' gaze.

Its not going to be like it was before." Silo's voice was rough and curt, as if his military days, and manner of speech, had never left him. He paused, like an actor, hoping to give weight to his next words. "I was here, seventeen years ago when the mountain roared. Many fools fled. They came back to find their homes looted, their goods stolen and their slaves run away. We who kept our heads though didn't suffer near as much. Trust me, I've been through it before. It will be nothing like the last time."

"You're right," Marcallus agreed. "This time you won't be so lucky."

Silo's only response was to spit on the ground, grinding his spittle in the sand with his sandal. "Your words are the same as those other fools I just mentioned."

"What do you mean, worse?" Narses was confused, but he had calmed down and was craning his neck, waiting for the chorus to appear.

"Narses, you must flee. You must take your family and flee while you can." Marcallus decided to just state what he knew. "Tomorrow, the mountain will vomit death unlike anything you can imagine. Anyone who stays here will die."

These words had the effect of bringing Narses' attention back to Marcallus and away from waiting for the play start. Several other people in nearby rows turned to look and listen.

Silo was insulted and anger tinged his voice. "Listen young man, I don't know what stories you've heard, but I was here during the last eruption."

"So was I," Marcallus told them. "I saw what was then and this will be worse."

Narses and Silo looked at each other. Then they both laughed.

"Your friend makes a jest, and a poor one." Silo wiped his eyes nonetheless. "But he was so earnest, I almost believed him. I thought, what if he were a priest who attends one of the oracles. But not even priests are known to take a downy faced boy who has never shaved."

"I disagree, Silo. Marcallus' jest was a good one. He really told it well and had me frightened. And you must not judge him by his looks. He is blessed with a youthful complexion. I think he would have made a fine actor. He could have played womens' roles well, don't you think? Perhaps Helen in that play last season."

Silo wrinkled his nose with distaste. "I've never heard of your friends gens. What is Kirius? Is he, a freedman?" Without waiting for an answer, he added, "Really man, you must keep a better trade in company. Freedmen and foreigners? Even if they are entertaining, with strange tales, you should stick to your own kind."

"Actually, Narses is the freedman," Marcallus stated. "He only pretends to be a Roman, but he does it well. I think it is Narses who could have been an actor himself."

Narses' face paled. But he put on a brave face. "Oh, Marcallus' You've already tricked us once. Don't trying to fool Silo like that. Or at least pick a less transparent lie if you want to have another go at us." He laughed nervously and fanned himself. His quick glance was an obvious plea for Marcallus to stop.

Silo laughed. He addressed Marcallus. "Tell me, how can you know these things?"

"What I'm saying, it is the truth. I keep some truck with... seers. And I know things too, with just as much certainty. Tomorrow will spell this city's doom. You must leave now, Narses. And you as well, Silo, though I sense you will never heed me."

Narses swallowed. "Really, my friend? You've been to a seer?"

"Don't listen to your young friend," Silo warned. "If you do, you'll just come back to find you house looted and you'll be ruined." There's been looters at work already, growing fat on the goods of fools. You'll be another if you heed your rash friend. And that's all I am saying.

"Yes, of course," Narses mumbled. He offered Marcallus an embarrassed glance. "Marcallus, you must come to dine with me tonight.

"Perhaps, next time," Marcallus offered in empty agreement. He got up. "You've been a good friend, Narses. May your gods be with you.

Narses was too embarrassed to reply. He got up to walk Marcallus to the exit, but Marcallus waved him off. The chorus had just entered the amphitheatre and Marcallus did not want his friend to miss this last pleasure. Silo, true to his obvious nature, made a plain effort at discourtesy by ignoring Marcallus' leaving altogether.

Marcallus left the main street and entered an alleyway. In an alcove, he found an empty courtyard and blue water from a splashing fountain. The water rippled in clashing rings as the ground trembled once more.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Marcus ran his fingers through the fountain. In the air, he could make out scents from rosemary and lavender growing in simple pots on kitchen sills.

"Yes, all creation is beautiful." Eli's shadow, winged and magnificent, seemed incongruous to the man with a stooped back who waddled into view. Eli was dressed in the garbs of a field slave, muscular and dirty, dressed in course cloth and simple sandals made of rope and worn wood.

"Then why must it end?"

"But it isn't ending. It's just becoming something different, something beautiful in its own right."

"I do not see it. A field of fire and ash isn't more beautiful to my eyes than these crafts and passions of men. To allow all these things to be done away with due to capricious acts of nature, what lesson is there in this but to make man fear nature, and thus fear the name of God. Why must it be so? Why must our adoration come through fear more than love? I have seen the new order coming. This new religion that will give a man's name to our Mistress and give her one name instead of many, it reeks of fear. Throngs will worship Her that their souls be not burned. They come not out of willingness but as thralls fearing damnation."

"I can give you no answer that would satisfy you," Eli replied. "Come, we must be away. And you must do penance. You tried to save this man and his family. You knew this was wrong and yet you did it anyway. Why?"

"Because he was my friend. He taught me to love the arts of man, to love especially the art of performance. It is a magical thing, the creation of something from nothing, intangible yet real."

"Friend. I have heard the word so often, but have never understood it. Archangels have no friends. But perhaps, when your penance is done, you will explain this to me. Come Marcus."

Eli raised his wings and the sun darkened as a dark cloud of ash belching from the mountain obscured the sun. When the sun peeked out for the briefest of moments through a break in the cloud, the courtyard was empty. Then all was darkness once again.

**story by Solanio**


	2. Captive Ghosts

Marcus gazed longingly at the grey flickering images. Captive ghosts were only too happy to entertain once more, moving to the clattering rhythm of the old projector. Marcus' eyes studied the frozen dance of one character's face and movement, and then the frozen voice of another, falling in love with each and every one yet again. He committed everything he saw to memory so that he could reconstruct it later in his mind.

"Hi Marcus. You're here early." Julie had come up, bringing him some tea.

"Just previewing the reel," Marcus told her.

"Always the perfectionist, eh?" Julie remarked. Marcus pretty much guessed that she knew that this was an excuse to watch it again. "Well, you'd better cut it short. That high school film class is here."

She glanced at the open can of brand-name vegetable shortening with a spoon sticking out of it. "Really, Marcus," she commented. "I don't see how you can stand eating that stuff like that. It can't be good for you."

Marcus stopped the projector and put the first reel back on. Julie looked at the other projectors, filled with the latest run of avant garde indies and foreign films, ready for that night's shows. Marcus opened a bottle of Tabasco and sprinkled it into his tea when Julie wasn't looking. Peeking into the theatre, he saw several high school students file in, organizing themselves into cliques or moving to the periphery while the teacher and his cadre sat up front. When everything was ready to go, Marcus dimmed the lights and started the movie. The Selznick logo appeared and then faded into the dream sequence and opening music. As Joan Fontaine's entry monologue started, Marcus cracked open another can of shortening and while he was eating it, he was soon transported with Joan's character back to the south of France and the sound of crashing waves.

"Julie just shook her head. "You're an odd one, all right." She looked at him strangely, as if wanting to ask him something. Thinking better of it, she just said, I'll catch you after the show."

But Marcus didn't respond. He was fascinated by Edythe Van Hopper, who was speaking just then. Julie smiled, and shook her head. There was so much about Marcus that was terribly strange, but anyone who would work for minimum wage with no benefits and was always available, well, one was best not to ask questions. Even if they did look like... Julie took one last look, sighed and left Marcus to his romantic celluloid dreams.

But he was only alone for a moment. "Hello Angie," he spoke to the darkness, not moving his eyes away from the screen. Joan Fontaine was speaking just then about memories in bottles. It was a lovely moment that spoke personally to Marcus and he had to see it once more.

"Hello Marcus. Which one is it now?" Angela sat down next to him.

Marcus smiled. "_Rebecca_." As if that were enough, he went back to his reverent silence.

"Marcus, we need to talk. Sarah has a job for us."

"Really?"

"Yes, Sarah has gotten herself in a bit of trouble. Haven't you seen the papers?"

"Hmm, no. I never read the papers." Marcus hadn't stopped watching the movie. "Sarah, that's too funny. What does she want us to do?"

"We need to break into the KSSC news station down in Pajaro. Sarah was taped when those infernals ran over her. She was also photographed but she's running damage control on those now. A few snuck through to the papers but we've managed to destroy or buy up the rest."

"Stealing, hmm. I wonder what the Boss is thinking about this. I take it this is the only way?"

"So Sarah says. She managed to suppress the story for a day by promising to tell the reporter everything about us, in return for the tape and any copies. But she left a loophole that if the reporter doesn't have the tape, Sarah doesn't have to give the interview."

"Hmm, well I have to work tonight. But I suppose I can leave this fellow here on auto and can meet you later, as long as I'm back for the reel change. Who else is coming"

"Not Sarah. She has to be conspicuously elsewhere when the break-in happens. She's having dinner with a Judge and his wife."

At the mention of dinner, Marcus helped himself to some more vegetable shortening. He offered some to Angela, who declined. Marcus took a sip of tea, and deciding it needed something more, continued to tap more hot sauce into it.

"Daria is sending you, me, Benefice, and a couple of heavies from out of town that she's bringing in for this mission. One's a throne named Vargas, the other is a virtue named Dio. Do you know them?"

"I've heard of them. Vargas is a cleaner. He specializes in this sort of thing. Dio is a nasty piece of work, a real heavyweight. Daria must be expecting some trouble if she's sending all of us and bringing in the pros."

"I think you can plan that the other side was expecting us to make a move, and probably set the whole thing up. They positioned that reporter to be there in the first place, since Sarah and I have a weekly lunch at the Perg."

"Well, I'll be there. Still, I don't think we should take Benefice. He's not much help in a fight and probably would only get in the way. And I would hate to see anything happen to him."

"As would I. But we are here to serve." She smiled. "Don't worry. We'll use him for lookout and keep him out of the way."

Angela looked at Marcus in the half-light spilling from the projector's lense.

"So this your new vessel? I don't think I've seen it yet."

She could see that Marcus was smiling, his teeth displayed grey in the near dark. "I've been waiting to show you, but you never come by. I hope you like it. I was thinking of you when I composed it."

"I hardly ever go to films," Angela offered in way of an apology.

"Movies," Marcus corrected her. "Film is the medium. Only pretentious assholes like our dear Sarah insist on calling it _film_. Call them what they are, moving film, movies." He walked over to the doorway leading to the stairs down to the lobby. Opening the door, enough light spilled through that Angela could see Marcus' face.

Angela's jaw dropped.

His disappointment was obvious. "I thought you'd like it. I took it from that surfer movie, the one about that F.B.I. guy that goes undercover. I thought it was a pretty nice face. I even did what you said, and altered the appearance. See, the hair is longer."

"Oh, it's great," Angela agreed. "But don't you think it's a bit too, um, contemporary. I mean, this fellow is really recognizable. Even I know him."

"Oh, I see." Marcus tried not to show his disappointment. "Maybe you're right. I was noticing that my boss keeps on giving me some strange looks."

"Better keep this pretty face in the dark up here. Sarah is already on you about Albert and that debacle last year. Thank the Boss it happened on Halloween. She wants me to hand you a memo but I tossed it."

"Figures. Sarah and her memos. I hope she remembers to sing herself one for all this mess. And being Daria's pet, she won't get into any trouble for it."

"Don't count on it. Daria might not be open about how she's going to deal with this, but I'm sure Sarah is in for a drubbing."

"You really should watch some more movies," Marcus suggested. "They don't say 'drubbing' anymore."

Angie crinkled her nose. "Really? Oh drats!" At the look on Marcus' face, she added. "I was kidding."

"I'll walk you down," Marcus told her. "I've seen this movie six times this week." He led her down to the empty lobby, cathedral in splendour with sun pouring through the windows onto the faded worn carpet.

"Planning on composing a new vessel?"

Marcus smiled. "Well, I've never made a Lawrence Olivier before. But I was thinking of maybe Judith Anderson. I don't do enough of the actresses."

"Who are you bringing tonight?"

"I was thinking of Rock." Angie shook her head. "Humphrey? Marylin? James? Elvis?"

To each, Angie shook her head again. "I don't know, maybe if you remember to change how they dress and give them some new hairstyles, maybe punk with tatoos and piercings," she suggested, trying to be helpful around this sensitive subject.

Marcus looked shocked. "But they're works of art! You can't suggest..."

"I'll leave it up to you, Marcus. But remember, the last thing Daria wants is to hear about a James Dean sighting in Santa Cruz. Speaking of which, I meant to ask you. What did you do with Albert? And where do you keep all these vessels when you're not in them. They're not out running around on auto are they?"

"Well, some are," Marcus confessed. "It's good to keep a few handy. Though I keep most, including Albert, over in a mausoleum at the cemetery."

"A mausoleum? Whose?"

"The Crowne family. Yes, I know they're the town's rich first family. But its secure, roomy and dry, and no one comes to visit unless its to drop off another empty coffin. It turns out, some of the bodies are missing. In fact, some crypts in look like they've never been used, ever, or hardly ever. I've got Albert stashed in Agnes Crowne's coffin. Silk lining. Very nice."

Angela shrugged indifferently. There was a mystery there, but nothing to do with her, she figured.

"Keanu!" Several young girls who had snuck out outside for a cigarette saw Marcus and pointed, shrieking. "Keanu!" They rushed to get back in through the wrong door, but it was locked. They were screaming and pointing at him, yelling for autographs. It looked like they were going to break the door down.

"See what I mean?" Angela nodded. "Go ahead and duck back and I'll cover for you."

Marcus ran back up and locked the door to the projection booth. He did not have to worry. Whatever Angela told them, it was enough to send them off, though he could hear some muttered whispers down in the theatre below. Other than popping out into some of his other vessels now and then to motivate them, he spent most of his time in Marcus, which he had to confess was his new favorite, supplanting James Dean. Cracking open another can of hydrogenated shortening, he settled in to watch Judith Anderson and Joan Fontaine squaring off in the Morning Room.

**story by Solanio**


End file.
